


In A Way He's Haunting Me

by TheSpaceCoyote



Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/M, Humanstuck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-03
Updated: 2013-03-03
Packaged: 2017-12-04 06:10:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/707414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSpaceCoyote/pseuds/TheSpaceCoyote
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vriska has to decide which is more important to her--her friendship with John, or the prospect of a relationship with him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In A Way He's Haunting Me

You and John have been best friends since kindergarten, since the grass was the briny deep and the play structure was a gilded galleon of plastic and plywood. Since you made John walk the plank one day and accidentally caused him to fracture his wrist. Since he baked you bright blue cupcakes that nearly made you sick. Since you teased him about cruising with the flocks of mall goths to get close to his middle school squeeze. Since he wrote you a fan fiction about the adventures of your beloved avatar Marquis Mindfang only to have it end in a crossover romance with the Blue Man Group. Since you filled his locker with the most explicit Zeddemore-slash-Venkman piss porn the Internet bowels had to offer. 

Since his baby fat molded into a strong jaw and killer abs, since his geeky passions  bloomed into genuine  _talent_ , since the friendship between the two of you had gotten nothing but stronger. 

Yeah, maybe deep down you really love John as more than just a friend. Somewhere  _waaaaaaaay_  deep down. Deep enough away from you that it's not really much of a problem ignoring it.

It only really resurfaces a couple of times, and you're usually able to keep a handle on it. Robo-bitch facade, roll out. 

It comes up when the two of you are watching a movie and John's sitting on the floor and you ask him a question or bring up a bit of trivia and he looks up at you, and the light from the TV screen is reflective in his glasses and turns his eyes bluer than blue. 

It comes up when he's baking and covered in flour and he has frosting on his hands and he leaves a little cyan rose of sugar on your nose and giggles like an idiot. 

It comes up when you're sitting on the roof of his Prius and pointing up at the sky, tracing constellation trails through the web of stars and weaving for him semi-shitty on the spot stories.

It comes up when he holds your hands in the stairwell as you weep and scream about  _why_ , why is it so  _hard_ , John,  _why did she do it?_

(Where is  _my_  mother John, where is she? Where did the beast behind spindly bars hide her?)

In those moment you just want to fall apart. Drag the mine up down from the depths and let it blow up the shoddy ship of safety you have set up and send you cannoning into John's arms and against his lips. The splintering wood dragging in nails against his scalp, his cheek. 

But no. You can't.

Outwardly you always laud your luck, and its accredited in your arrogance. But you're not lucky, you're really not. Your life is a testament to that.

The stakes are too high, and it's too risky to gamble on John's feelings. Your fear forces the chips back up every time.

Because tails you  _lose_ , lose everything. Heads you win--but win what? Win the right to mash his mouth against yours? You have his trust, you have his wit, you have his smile, you have his laugh; do you really need his teeth, his tongue, his ass, his cock?

_Do you really need them?_

You have safety in John, security. There's no pressure in those scarce moments that you do fall into his arms, do cling to him for warmth and comfort.

You don't want to lose that. You don't ever want to lose that, even if it means your feelings never being drudged up from the deep.


End file.
